


Midnight Diner

by cyevi



Category: Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z
Genre: Absolutely inspired by the show Midnight Diner, F/M, Human AU, Slice of Life, Something's Cooking, TPTH Drabble Inspired
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-01-20 16:28:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18528805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyevi/pseuds/cyevi
Summary: Vegeta runs a late night diner. All he cares about is serving up great food to paying patrons in the middle of the night. But one week, a certain blue haired woman starts to visit.





	1. Miso Cod

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
>   
> 

**Delectable**

It wasn't the first time he had seen the woman in his alleyway diner after two in the morning. She had been stopping in each night for the past week, ordering beer and edamame with an abrupt flick of her wrist. Vegeta wiped down the counter in front of the blue haired woman, just before she sat in the stool across from him.

“The usual?” He didn't look at her, preferring to rearrange a few glasses instead.

He didn't care much if his guests were curt or rude. He knew that his clientele came to his diner to escape from life for a bit. Only a few places were open this late, and most were just pubs or escort bars. He was the only spot in the neighborhood that offered actual meals for the graveyard shift. Between nine pm and four am, his usual clientele consisted of security guards, drunk salarymen, prostitutes, cab drivers, and janitors. They didn't ask much of him, and as long as they paid, he didn't mind spending his evenings with them.

But this woman definitely wasn't a blue collar worker. Every night, she came in wearing a perfectly tailored, crisp, black suit, an eyebrow-raising short skirt, and ridiculously high, five inch heels. Last night, they were red. Tonight, they were pink. Next to her stool, a briefcase that probably cost what he pulled in over an entire month. To say she wasn't part of his world was an understatement.

Vegeta glanced up, not hearing any assent from the woman and paused while polishing a long cutting knife. She observed him with parted lips and slightly glassy blue eyes, resting her knuckles against her jawline. Brazenly, her eyes traveled down his thick shoulders, past the white collared shirt, and stopped near the rolled up sleeves at his biceps.

For a moment, only the slow simmer of his nightly soup back in the kitchen disturbed the air. She leaned forward slightly, pressing her blouse clad breasts against the counter.

“Mmm.. no,” she confided. “I'm in the mood for something much … more … delectable.”

 

**Tiny Bite**

Vegeta finished polishing the long knife and nodded, utterly ignoring the obvious innuendo from the woman. He turned around and pulled out a pre-warmed bottle of strong sake from a pot of heated water, toweled the vessel off and collected a small drinking cup.

He set the cup in front of her and poured the first cloudy shot of the wine. She immediately took it to her lips while he held the bottle, waiting for her. As soon as she put the cup down, he refilled it and set the bottle in front of her.

“Savory or sweet?” Vegeta had a full menu at his diner, but he had long learned that at this time of night, his patrons never had the focus to read a menu, much less an offering board. It was easier to ask a few questions to figure out what they were in the mood for. He crossed his arms and watched her cheeks flush with heat as the second cup of bamboo sake slipped through her system and softened her spine.

She smiled, slowly and dropped her eyes down along the length of his white apron, stopping at the oddly perfect tie around his waist.

“Savory. But just a tiny bite, for now.”

He dropped his chin in an unusually elegant, but subtle nod and walked back to the kitchen a few feet away. As he pulled out a bit of cod, he heard the soft splash of another cup of sake poured. With practiced ease, Vegeta brushed dark miso along the flesh of the fish then placed the filet on the grill, skin side down. As it sizzled and smoked, he readied a small blue and white plate with a sprig of long onion and freshly pickled ginger. Within moments, the fish puckered and glistened. He lifted the morsel off the grill and set it next to the garnish, crispy skin side up. He topped it with a few toasted sesame seeds and brought the dish to the woman.

“Just so you know,” she noted, “I can't pay.”

 

**Guilty Pleasure**

She raised a haughty eyebrow when the cook paused mid-stride.

 _Who the fuck is she kidding? That outfit alone probably costs 400K_ _._

They both stared at one another, but the woman was the first to break the stillness. Without looking away from his deep, black eyes, she downed her fourth cup of sake. As she set the cup down, she smirked and let out a hot, invigorated breath as the alcohol burned down her throat.

Vegeta followed suit by lifting a set of chopsticks from the cup on the counter, effortlessly slipped them between his fingers and instantly plucked the crispy, glazed fish from the plate and popped it into his mouth. He chewed the food, judgmentally staring the woman down.

“You prick!” Surprisingly, her speech hadn't begun to slur yet, but she was well on her way to correcting that. She grabbed the near empty bottle of cooling sake and drained the last mouthful into her cup.

“Woman, why are you even in this dive?” Vegeta set the empty plate down behind the counter and crossed his arms. “Is it some kind of guilty pleasure for you rich types to slum around?”

The woman chugged the last of her sake with a total lack of refinement and slammed the tiny cup back down on the counter. She immediately turned her body to the side, arching her back. As she shimmied out of her blazer, revealing a sleeveless white blouse underneath stretched taut against her plump breasts and Vegeta caught the lacy outline of a rather low-cut bra beneath the satin.

Discreetly, he swallowed and looked away, quickly trying to convince himself that he didn't see her taut nipples pressing against her blouse. Whatever she had underneath that blouse must only be holding up her breasts, not covering them. The realization quickly dropped his mind to lower regions of her body, wondering what else wasn't fully covered under her suit.

She crossed her arms on the counter and sighed at her empty cup. Only then did his eye catch the giant bruise on the top of her arm.

 

**Drizzle**

_Dammit._

Vegeta grabbed the sake bottle abruptly and stalked back into the kitchen, depositing it into a tub of soapy water for later cleaning. He let out a slow sigh and pressed two hands to the prep counter, which he knew was out of site of the serving counter.

_Don't get involved. And don't let your dick decide anything tonight._

“Sake's on the house tonight, but next time you come back, I expect payment Woman,” Vegeta scolded from the back of the house.

With a grunt, he grabbed a knob of ginger and began to mince it quickly. He tried his damnedest to tune out any further protest from the woman and zoned in on the sounds of his kitchen. A pot of water simmering away with small bubbles ready to blanch market vegetables for his evening special hot pot, the hum of the under powered air conditioner droning through the summer heat, the slight clattering rumble of his old fridge keeping his fish stock cool.

His knife moved with practiced speed and within seconds, he had an aromatic pile of ginger ready to add to a quick fry. He grabbed a head of garlic and smashed the head with the side of his knife, separating the cloves quickly.

He was thankful the woman didn't protest any further. The rhythmic chopping of his knife and his quiet kitchen symphony let his mind drift into his work. Outside, a night time rainstorm began. Not much more than a drizzle, but it helped cool the shop and covered the sound of her approaching heels.

She slumped against the fridge, her arms hugging her frame awkwardly, and avoided his glare.

“Look, I'm ...” she hesitated.

“Don't care. Get out.” Vegeta brusquely wiped his knife clean with a cloth and placed it back on a magnetic strip above the work surface.

When he realized that she hadn't left, he turned to her with a dark scowl.

But by then, she had already unbuttoned her blouse, revealing the center clasp of her bra, sitting smugly between those perfect breasts.

 

**Perfect Presentation**

Vegeta was suddenly extra thankful that none of his regulars had arrived tonight.

He lunged toward her, grabbing her arms to stop her, but he had waited too long. By the time his calloused hands grabbed her arms, her blouse was soaking into water-covered floor of his kitchen. She stood before him unabashedly wanton, short black skirt with legs up to heaven, punctuated by those sultry pink heels, which he couldn't help but notice matched her pert, pink nipples in the cupless bra. Absolutely fucking perfect presentation.

His cheeks instantly flushed dark red and his cock flooded with heat.

“I... look... I .. wait,” he stammered helplessly and pulled his hands away quickly.

But before he could get one step away from her, she had lifted her hands up to his cheeks and pulled her face to his. She kissed his lips, roughly, drunkenly, panting into him, stepping into his space until her breasts brushed against his apron. Until he could feel the heat of her body, the slickness of the summer humidity on her skin, the breach of his lips with her tongue. She tasted of rice and starry nights and insatiable need.

And he found himself staring at that lush, blue hair, crowned on her head in a slick bun while telling his body to stay absolutely still. Just a single movement from him and he would lose his fucking mind. Unfortunately for him, she had other plans and grabbed his right hand, shoving it between her legs, underneath her skirt.

When his fingers slipped against her naked, dripping pussy and felt a bit of lace on the edges of her lips, his brain understood she was wearing crotchless panties and he moaned helplessly pressing two fingers into her heat.

She pressed forward, turning him until his body was trapped against the prep counter and urged his hand against her core. Finally, she came up for a breath and gazed at him with dewy blue eyes.

With his free hand, he reached up and pulled her hair loose.

_Fuck it._

 

**Taste**

In an instant, she dropped her knees onto the slick floor and dipped her head underneath his long apron. Her hands worked quickly, untying the waistband of his pants, releasing his cock.

Vegeta gripped his hands onto the counter behind him, groaning loudly, as her mouth covered the engorged head with a wet slurp and deep, plunging suckle. She worked almost feverishly, stroking the base of the shaft with one hand, her mouth covering the rest of the distance, while her tongue tasted every crevice of his cock. He gasped in a few breaths, enough to try and steady himself with one hand, and with the other, ripped his apron off her head so he could watch her peach-tinted lips indulge on his starved cock.

With his now free hand, he slipped his fingers into her lush blue tresses, gripping the back of her head gently. He gritted his teeth as pressure built up within him, threatening to make him finish too quickly. When he felt her tongue wrap around the ridge of his cock then slip along the slit at the tip, he gripped her hair, hard and pulled her back with an audible groan.

He panted, regarding the blue-haired minx below him. In response, she gazed at him with fascination and ran the tip of her tongue along her upper lip. His own gaze dropped to her lips, then her breasts, and finally the shadow between her legs.

Gripping her hair, he tugged her up, none too gently, and shoved her against the prep station. Her hips pressed against the counter, he shoved the tiny skirt over her ass and dove his fingers between her legs again, quickly slipping between her folds. He found her hard little nub and began rubbing in rough circles, alternating two fingers slicking between her dripping lips, teasing the entrance.

She came undone.

Her entire body shuddered, her breasts heaving as she ground her hips, unabashedly back against his hand, coming instantly.

No, he didn't want to get involved.

But like hell he was going to pass up learning to prepare this dish.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to [rockykelboa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockykelboa/pseuds/rockykelboa) for hosting the BVDN and [musicofthespheres](https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicofthespheres/pseuds/musicofthespheres) for coming up with the hilariously perfect prompts! Be sure to check out all the drabbles from this night. Amazingly fun takes on these prompts. I'd been mulling this AU around in my head for a while and these prompts just hit the right mark for me. I love the idea of these two colliding in this weird world, so, ~~MAYBE there might be another chapter or two to resolve things. We'll see!~~
> 
> It's official... there's more story coming! Story is heavily outlined and a new chapter will be on the way soon!


	2. Skipjack with Salted Onions

Nozo, a small neighborhood district on the northeast edge of West City, was close enough to the ports for the local shops to always grab the best leftovers after the morning market rush, but far enough away that it didn't feel like walking along the docks. It also happened to be a stone's throw from a mid-sized business core, five city blocks from a small university, and a twenty minute taxi ride from downtown proper. Locally, Nozo was known for its very small alley shops serving up specialty foods and services without an exorbitant price tag.

Along one particular alley no wider than two meters, with an uneven concrete path, each of the shops had remnants of traditional architecture. White screen doors, cloth banners used as open signs, and hand painted lanterns showing off each shop owner's cursive script. Because of the narrow width of the alley, each shop had a sliding front door so patrons could move along more easily.

There was a small police kiosk, a seamstress who only worked from seven am to noon and only offered her services to theater troupes, a dumpling shop that opened around lunch time and was actually better known for its savory pumpkin-apple tea, a local potter who specialized in dinner dishes, and a diner that never opened before nine in the evening. Across from this midnight diner in a little nook between two buildings sat a small shrine with an unusual statue of a tiny monkey holding a sphere. Always well-tended with a bowl of rice and a fresh flower. No matter the weather. Today, the last of August, the air was warm, humid, but swept along with the first chills of autumn.

Raditz brushed the back of his hand across his brow as he parked his small scooter next to the diner. Last delivery of the week, and always his favorite. He saved his cash for Vegeta's cooking. The man never said too much, but he was a beast in the kitchen. Everything he made was insanely good, but surprisingly simple. Raditz knocked the kickstand of the scooter down and unhooked the two cases of sake from the rack. Before grabbing them, he slid open the door to the diner.

“Sake's here! You can reward me with a cold beer and tonight's special.” Raditz spun back to his scooter, unhooked his helmet and left it on the seat, then picked up the two cases of sake with a grunt. Just as he ducked under the entrance banner, he caught a glimpse of someone in the back of Vegeta's kitchen.

“Eh? New hire?” He set the cases on the counter, turned and closed the door.

“You can leave the cases there tonight. I'll stock them.” Vegeta reached out for the cases, leaning awkwardly over the counter, but Raditz snatched the boxes away.

“No way. You know I'll get my ass fired if I break protocol, Vegeta.” Raditz turned and navigated around the U-shaped bar that could only seat ten patrons and walked back to the kitchen. The two cases came up to his chin and blocked the view to his feet. Just as he turned the corner into the back of the kitchen, a short, blue-haired woman shoved past him. He spun, about to apologize, when he saw her mostly bare back, and realized she was practically topless. “Wha..?”

“Raditz, just put the damn order in the back!” Vegeta grabbed Raditz's arm and yanked him back toward the storage, desperate to get his attention away from the fleeing, half naked woman.

Before he could turn around again, Raditz heard the sliding door open, then close, then the unmistakable clatter of heels dropped onto concrete. He turned and looked at Vegeta with a lurid grin.

“Damn! Really?” Raditz laughed and finally set the cases down, signing off on his delivery. “In YOUR kitchen? And here I thought you...”

Vegeta sent a left cross to Raditz's jaw before he could finish the insult.

“Shut up about this. I'm serious.” Vegeta grumbled and moved over to his prep station. “Free special, on me, every delivery from now on. But you tell no one. Not even that sleazy mag you sell your fantasies to. Otherwise I'm canceling my weekly order with you. Deal?”

“I won't need to sell them a story this month, and just the thought of her back here with you ought to fuel my entire weekend session.” Raditz laughed and left the kitchen, plunking himself down at the counter. When Vegeta leaned around the edge of the kitchen to glare at Raditz while holding an incredibly long knife, the man put up both hands in surrender. “It's between me and my palm. But toss me a beer, would you, Master?”

Vegeta grumbled audibly but responded to the traditional shorthand for “Respected Chef,” and retrieved Raditz a beer and tall glass. He set the glass down, then picked up a bottle opener from behind the counter. With a cold snap and a pop, the metal lid hissed off. Cold steam drifted out the top before Vegeta picked up the bottle and poured his pony-tailed customer a glass.

Raditz immediately took the chilled brew and drank deeply. He set the glass down and leaned back, unclasping the top few buttons on his brown delivery uniform. Vegeta waited for a moment, crossing his arms.

“So, hows the clan? You thinking of starting your own with her or what?” Raditz grinned. He couldn't resist a small poke. Vegeta was just one of those guys who always seemed like everything was business. Impossibly serious and impossibly obsessed with perfection even for the meals at this hole in the wall diner that only served the graveyard shift.

“Watch it.” Vegeta snorted and stepped back into the kitchen. As small as the establishment was, it was easy enough to carry on a conversation with a patron at the counter. The doorway to the kitchen was only separated from the dining area by another small cloth banner cut into neat squares running across the top of the frame. Vegeta pulled a filet of skip jack from the fridge and pulled a slender yanagi knife from its magnetic holder on the wall. With a few clean strokes, Vegeta cut four thin slices of the tuna and placed them in a semi-circle on a serving dish with raised edges.

“And no. Since my father still fancies himself king of the world, he's been bouncing from one wife to another. The only good news is that he finally sold the last bit of ownership to me last week.” Wiping the knife first, Vegeta put the long blade back and selected a heavier usuba with one hand, and a white onion with the other. On a new work surface, he peeled the root then quickly sliced thin ribbons of the onion. With a scoop of the edge of the knife, he dropped the strips into an ice bath.

“Really? This place is yours now?” Raditz sounded genuinely pleased and refilled his beer glass with a foamy splash. “We should celebrate.”

“Sixty-Seven thousand in debt is not worth a celebration, Raditz.” Vegeta pulled the onions from the ice bath, patted them dry with a paper towel, then tossed them with a bit of fine salt in a new dish. While he waited for them to quickly pickle, he retrieved a bottle of ponzu sauce.

“Oh, damn.” Raditz went quiet, drinking his beer. The door slid open and a very old, short man with an extraordinarily fuzzy set of muttonchops came in.

“Just what I need. Master, beer please!” The old man placed himself in the center of the counter, a few seats away from Raditz.

“Evening, Korin. How're the stiffs?” Raditz nodded a greeting to the man just as Vegeta brought out the skipjack and placed it next to Raditz's almost empty beer. The bright red flesh of the fish stood out against the lightly salted onions. A drizzle of dark citrus ponzu across the white onions elevated the dish into a sublime farewell to summer. Raditz immediately grabbed a set of chopsticks, broke them apart, clapped his hands together in thanks, and took a slice of the fish. “Oh .. damn! This is so good.”

Satisfied he had kept up his end of the bargain. Vegeta smirked and grabbed a beer for Korin.

“They couldn't be less stiff, Raditz.” Korin grumbled and folded his arms on the counter. “The last few nights have been nothing but drunk salarymen staying out with their bosses. I swear, if things don't change, the next generation won't make it to 30.”

Vegeta cracked open the beer, poured the first glass, then crossed his arms and listened to the aging paramedic. Korin took a long drink, and relaxed with a sigh.

“At least tonight's last ride brought my spirits up. Some young buck got a bit too friendly with his hostess.” Korin chuckled and Raditz perked up, shoving the last slice of fish into his mouth. “That woman had a fire in her fists and she left quite the burn on his cheek.”

“I'll add that image to my weekend queue as well!” Raditz and Korin laughed heartily but Vegeta just smirked. “How was she stacked?!” Raditz gestured with his hands, cupped in front of his chest just as the door to the diner slid open again.

“Oh lord. I just knew it would be the two of you in here tonight.” A woman old enough to be Korin's mother grumbled through a wobbly voice as she shut the door, but placed herself at the counter next to Korin, clearly not that offended by the man's presence. “My last fare got dropped off at that new … adult specialty shop. No windows! Imagine that. But I knew that stop foretold another dubious meeting tonight.”

“Master, soba salad please. This heat is the worst.” Korin ordered before turning to the woman with a lewd grin. “So what did you buy there, Baba?”

“Careful, Korin. I've been practicing my hexes between rides! Master, same for me. At least Korin has some sense of good taste left.” Baba took her triangular taxi driver's cap off and placed it on the seat along with her cell phone. The old fashioned cell sat screen up and had a small, girlish charm that resembled a crystal ball dangling off the corner. She wasn't quite finished with her shift this evening so she switched it to vibrate only. Hopefully, she could get in a good half hour to eat some dinner.

Vegeta nodded with a slight smile, but before he could get back into the kitchen, the door opened again. Bending considerably, a huge man with a red Mohawk, dressed in a somewhat garish green t-shirt with black jeans stepped through the entrance with silent frustration.

“Welcome back, Sixteen,” Vegeta greeted, gave the giant a once over and noticed a massive bruise on the man's right arm. The color and shape was almost identical to the one he had glimpsed on the woman a few hours earlier. He cleared his throat quickly to avoid dwelling on her. “You look a bit worse for wear. The usual tonight? Curry udon?”

Sixteen nodded and sat at the counter, opposite from Raditz without a word. Vegeta cracked open a beer for the man and then stepped back into the kitchen.

“Oh, it's _sixteen_ now?” Raditz inquired. “Who was your last match against?”

“Guy named Rock. Said he wanted to defend the honor of the Red Shark Gang.” Sixteen paused and looked down at the counter. “Told him it wasn't worth it, but they insisted. I think I'm done after this.”

“Why man? Haven't you earned a ton fighting on the late night circuit? Honestly, you should go pro.” Raditz said.

“Believe it or not, I don't actually like fighting.” Sixteen took a gulp of his beer, downing the glass in one go. “It's just easy to make bank when you're this big.”

“You don't usually come in here with bruises like that, son.” Korin pointed at Sixteen's arm with a set of chopsticks he had pulled from the cup on the counter. “In fact, you might want to get that checked out for microfractures. You landed on your shoulder and felt it pop out of joint, didn't you?”

Sixteen, along with Baba and Raditz all looked with interest at the arm and considered Korin's diagnosis of the fight.

“Right as always, Korin.” Sixteen refilled his glass. “Who would have thought that agreeing to a show match with a gang member would ever include cheating?” Sixteen snorted and drank slowly this time.

“Young man, you must follow your heart and stop using your head as a battering ram,” Baba chided him, just as Vegeta brought out two identical bowls filled with light brown soba noodles, tossed in a sweet soy sauce and dressed with thin slivers of green onion and toasted sesame seeds. “Let your body rest before you break it into pieces.”

“Oh leave him alone you crone,” Korin argued and dug into the noodles. “One bruise does not a life destroy.”

Korin and Baba bickered back and forth over their noodles for a moment while Vegeta turned toward Sixteen. His eyes drifted to the bruise and lingered on Korin's diagnosis. Had she been tossed onto something? Possibly thrown down stairs? She hadn't acted injured, so whenever the bruise was formed must have been at least a day prior. But it was just one bruise. Korin was right.

Vegeta shook the thought out of his head and returned to the kitchen.

 

–

 

After finishing his third bowl of curry udon, Sixteen thanked Vegeta, paid, and headed out. “Korin and Baba had long since left for another round of their shifts. Raditz still lingered at the counter, having finished a fourth plate of skipjack. He dug around in his wallet and handed Vegeta twenty zeni.

“I'm glad this place is finally yours, Vegeta, but why are you trapping yourself here and with that much debt? Your food is delicious, and you cook like a five-star chef.”

“Believe it or not, Raditz, I like this place.” Vegeta tucked the money in his pocket. “Working nights has its advantages too.”

“No shit, if earlier is any indication of the perks,” Raditz grinned.

“You'd rather pay for the whole meal and a canceled contract?” Vegeta sneered. “Best I can tell, you need to keep your pennies for that terrible hobby of yours. How much did you spend last month on that porn shit? Thirty, thirty-five thousand zeni?”

“Oh come on, Vegeta. You know it wasn't even close to that.” Raditz spun around in his seat to avoid Vegeta's stare. As he did, his feet crashed into something on the floor by the chair beside him. “What..?”

Leaning over, he picked up an extremely high-end briefcase. After an initial moment of confusion, he turned back to Vegeta, grinning like a letch. Vegeta snatched the briefcase out of Raditz's hands and walked it back to the storage area of the kitchen without a word.

Raditz stood and stretched, ready to head out for the night. He glanced at the clock on the wall behind him, noting it was already two in the morning. The door to the diner opened again, but the newest patron didn't bother closing it behind him. A tall man with a much, much shorter version of Raditz's pony-tail walked in, a small x-shaped scar on his jaw, dressed to the nines in a thousand zeni suit and polished monk strap dress shoes.

Vegeta returned to the front of the shop and welcomed the new customer.

“Oh my god, this place is a dive. What the hell was she doing _here_? She'd better put out for this.” The man seemed to be speaking to himself, but had the obnoxious habit of looking directly at Vegeta and Raditz, as if waiting for the men to apologize for the restaurant. “Oi, cook. I'm looking for a briefcase. My partner says she left it here.”

Raditz immediately bristled at the man's common title usage for Vegeta and slammed his hands on the counter. Vegeta put one hand up, pausing Raditz.

“I can't just give a stranger someone else's property. Tell her she needs to pick it up herself.” Vegeta stated calmly. The man spat in annoyance and pulled an engraved business card holder from the inner pocket of his blazer. Popping it open, he handed Vegeta a card.

“That should be sufficient. Now give me her briefcase.” He shoved the holder back into his suit then ran his palm over his hair.

Vegeta read over the card and looked up at the man with disinterest.

“Well, Mr. Important Assistant District Attorney Yamcha,” he mocked and crossed his arms, “I wouldn't care if you were the great King Yemma from the realm of the dead. I'm not giving you someone else's property.”

Yamcha scowled and looked over the two men. Both were surprisingly fit for being a cook and a delivery driver. He prided himself on being the most well-toned lawyer in West City, a trait that he was sure had helped catapult him to his current influential position and all the perks that came along with the title. But, he saw no reason to get his hands dirty in a scuffle.

“I hope your licenses are up to date, Shortstack, or I'll have your ass in court by Wednesday.” Yamcha huffed, turned and left without closing the door.

Raditz looked at Vegeta, who seemed utterly unfazed by the incident.

“Some guys are all hot air,” Vegeta remarked.

“And some women are trouble. Watch yourself.” Raditz counseled Vegeta with uncharacteristic seriousness, nodded a goodbye, and left, closing the door behind him.

Vegeta tilted his head back and let out a long sigh, closing his eyes. The diner was empty, even though he could be open for another two hours. Perhaps he would shut early tonight. As he stood in the stillness, the memory of her skin, pressing against his fingertips shot through his mind and down to his groin. Not wanting to dwell on that moment any longer, he stepped back into the kitchen, turned off the front lights, and picked up a pack of cigarettes. Lighting one, he took a long drag and leaned against the counter. He looked around his orderly kitchen, everything in its place, with barely anything to tidy.

“Fuck, what a mess.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blending two shows is a fun challenge. This entire story has been completely outlined for months! I'm so thrilled to finally get the first full chapter out following the drabble event way back in April. 
> 
> In keeping with the show ("Shinya Shokudo" in the original Japanese, "Midnight Diner" in the Netflix adaptation), each chapter will be named after a dish. The skipjack featured in Raditz's snack is apparently popular at pubs, but the [Soba Salad](https://www.justonecookbook.com/soba-salad/) is more of a homestyle dish that seems perfect for the last hot days of summer. Sixteen's Curry Udon recipe can be found at Cooking With Dog's channel. If you've never seen their videos before, be warned. The recipes are delicious, the chef is wonderful, and Francis the dog is super adorable, but he has since passed away. 
> 
> Anyway, I love Japanese cuisine, and though I haven't made much of it myself, I do cook regularly. If there are any chefs familiar with the cuisine reading this story, please feel free to toss any culinary corrections my way! Apparently there's a specific term for thin slicing onions, but I could only find the french verb "émincer" and I couldn't find an equivalent noun to describe the pieces.


End file.
